


Straining to reach (the light on the surface)

by Bohemian (Linguam)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: #PickUpShadowhunters, #SaveShadowhunters, Angst and Feels, Exhaustion, Good Boyfriend Alec Lightwood, M/M, Magic Depletion, Sad Alec Lightwood, Sad Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Magnus Bane, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguam/pseuds/Bohemian
Summary: "Cat said you almost died."





	Straining to reach (the light on the surface)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pheral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheral/gifts).



> You got exhausted Alec, now here is magically depleted Magnus—words that, considering the mid-season finale, leave a very bitter taste in my mouth...
> 
> Gifting this story to pheral, who has kind of sort of been waiting for it since I accidentally revealed its existence - I told you it would come eventually!
> 
> A little different from my other works, style-wise. Let me know what you think!

“Cat said you almost died.”

The words are soft, gentle whispers traveling through motionless air. Magnus blinks open heavy eyelids, tries to orient himself through the numbing haze of half-sleep.

Silk sheets, golden light through parted curtains, distant echoes of car horns blaring, familiar warmth. Safe.

Loft. Bedroom.

Alexander.

He blinks again, wills the soft sunlight to disperse of the shadows encroaching on his mind. He instinctively reaches for his magic, only to find that it isn’t there.

“You depleted your magic,” Alec says from somewhere above him, as if he can sense Magnus’s confusion. “We called Cat. She said that you’d be okay, that you just needed to rest… You’ve been asleep for almost three days.”

His voice is unwavering, emotionless. Giving a mission report.

Magnus swallows, throat a container of jagged glass. Every breath feels heavy, lungs stiff and straining against some unseen resistance—air pockets underneath a frozen lake only now beginning to thaw. 

“Alec…”

Lips, soft like a breeze, like the silk sheets caressing his skin, press against his hairline, right behind his ear.

“You must be hungry. Cat said you’d need to restore your energy.” The warm surface underneath him shifts and then withdraws, leaving a cold, empty void, and for a second, Magnus feels like he's floating.

Another, too gentle press of lips at his temple.

“I’ll get you something. Don’t fall asleep.”

Magnus opens his mouth to reply, but Alec is already gone.

He sighs wearily and lifts a hand— _trembling piece of lead_ —and rubs at his face. Now a little more aware, Magnus can feel the telltale signs of magic depletion: the heavy limbs, the sluggish mind, the hollowness that seems to go soul-deep. He doesn’t remember what happened, recollection a sea of fractured images at best, but Alec is here, so everything must be all right enough.

When Alec returns, it’s with a bowl, a glass of water, and a small vial filled with murky, purple liquid that Magnus recognizes as one of Cat’s particularly revolting concoctions.

He doesn’t protest when Alec gently maneuvers him into a sitting position, muscles trembling from a combination of overuse and disuse: doesn’t say anything when Alec lifts a spoonful of soup, blows gentle ripples across the surface, and offers it to him. Warmth, only partly due to the salty broth, spreads through Magnus's chest, and it's more than a little undignified; but then, this is Alexander.

Soup finished and the foul remnants of magic enhancing potion sticking to the roof of Magnus’s mouth, Alec leaves with the dishes. He returns within seconds with the glass refilled.

Slowly sipping the water, Magnus’s eyes linger on his boyfriend, sitting at the edge of the bed—his boyfriend who is close enough to touch but who still hasn’t really looked at him, whose shoulders are curved inward, fingers intertwined between his knees and expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry.”

Alec nods, gaze fixed on the wall in front of him.

“You’d do it again.”

Magnus presses his lips together and doesn’t try to deny it.

“I’m not mad,” Alec says quietly after a moment’s silence. “I mean, I was, at first, because what you did? Magnus, you could’ve…” He swallows, takes a slow, measured breath. “But I understand.”

“If I hadn’t done what I did,” Magnus says, voice equally as subdued. “You would all have died. I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen, Alec, not when I had the means to prevent it.”

“I know,” Alec says. “And I get it. But you’re not expendable, either, Magnus.”

Magnus doesn’t contradict him, because he doesn’t have it in him to start a conversation about self-worth, or the hypocrisy of that statement. His traitorous body is already reaching its limits, and he struggles to keep his eyes from drooping.

Noticing—because of course he does—Alec’s lips give a minute twitch.

“You should sleep.”

“Sounds like that’s all I’ve been doing lately,” Magnus grumbles, but he obediently relinquishes his hold on the glass and allows himself to be lowered down onto the sheets, sighing in contentment. Being horizontal has never felt so heavenly.

Beside him, Alec gives a one-armed shrug.

“You need it.”

Magnus watches him, vision starting to go fuzzy but still clear enough for him to take in the bruises under his boyfriend’s eyes.

“I daresay, that so do you.”

Alec sighs, deep and shaky.

“Yeah.”

Magnus briefly wonders if he’s been here all this time, if he has slept at all—and then wants to kick himself, because all it takes is one look at Alec to know the answer to that.

He swallows down his heartache, his fondness and his love, for this wonderful, stubborn, _stupid_ Nephilim.

“Lie down with me?”

“I don't—” 

“Alex _an_ der.” 

Alec turns his head, _finally_ looks at him, and there is too much sadness and lingering fear reflected in those gorgeous hazels. He doesn’t say anything, only climbs over and lays down on his side, close enough that Magnus can feel the tremors of exhaustion running through him.

Magnus sighs and inches closer, rests his lips against raven curls.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, because he might not regret what he did, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t sorry Alec is hurting. Rationally, Alec might understand. But the heart is not governed by reason.

Alec presses his face into Magnus's shoulder as if he wants to melt into the skin there and disappear, and Magnus aches for him.

He doesn’t want to fall asleep, not with Alec still so obviously upset, but his body doesn’t care about _want_ , only about _need_ , and what he needs right now is to rest.

They’ll talk when they wake up, Magnus decides, as the numbness of deep sleep draws nearer. About how immortality doesn’t mean you can’t die, about the reality of their situation, their world, and the dangers of their lives.

But, for now, they sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fleurie's _Breathe._
> 
> Don't forget to twitter, sign the petition, and be generally vociferous about the show on whatever platforms you frequent!


End file.
